Green blossoms droop in the blaze.
Does the pitiless sun drain them of
all hope with its scorching rays?
They quake in repressed agony.
The aroma of asphalt slowly moving
In to suck the sap;
Trees, stately and daring the skies
bear an uncanny fear in their hearts;
Even their shadows appear mortal!
They harbor an unexpressed message –
manifold flora has lost its scent.
The brook gurgles quietly below.
The ambience of silence a roaring
curse on the day when it will be
a static sewage.